Page 30 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)
TWENTY-TWO
DEVAN
Now
T he media storm after the L.A. game and our night outside the hotel in Dallas has mostly died down, thanks in part to Coach Lennox threatening to bury any reporter who asked about it, and well, Derrick and Sebastian have everyone turning heads left and right.
The speculation of romance between our new goalie and our veteran has become the shiny new distraction the hockey world needed.
For me and Tobias it’s as if no time has passed between us. We've both been sticking close to Lia and Chloe as all three of us navigate our budding throupleship. Yeah, that's a word I'm still getting used to saying, even in my head.
With yesterday being a much-needed day off, we took full advantage.
We spent it at Lia's place, just the five of us: me, Tobias, Lia, Chloe.
. .and Glitzy, who I had to go retrieve from my penthouse or she would never forgive me if I left her alone any longer than I already had.
My enormous white Maine Coon gave me the cold shoulder for a solid hour before deciding that Lia's lap looked comfortable enough to grace with her presence.
She didn't even give Lia attitude or try to knock things off shelves with her tail like she usually does.
I call that progress where my fluffy diva is concerned.
We ordered takeout from the Thai place Lia loves, played with Chloe on her colorful activity mat while she tried her hardest to army crawl toward Tobias's phone.
At six months, my daughter is already attempting to be tech savvy.
For a moment, things felt normal. Good, even.
If we can stay in this little bubble, no eyes on us, no questions, maybe, just maybe we can actually do this.
Build something real between the three of us.
Now it's the night before our next game, and we're standing outside an art gallery downtown, prepping ourselves for another kind of battlefield, one with expensive hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes instead of sticks and gloves.
The gallery's windows glow with soft light, illuminating the faces of Seattle's elite as they wait outside, dressed in their finest.
"This is going to be awkward, isn't it?" I murmur to Lia as she adjusts the strap on her purse, her fingers fidgeting with the clasp in that nervous way I've come to recognize.
She looks up at me, eyes sharp behind her black cat-eye glasses, her dark lipstick perfectly in place.
She looks absolutely stunning in a black and white pinstripe dress that hugs all her curves in ways that make my mouth go dry.
Her dark hair falls in those vintage waves she loves, framing her face perfectly.
"Probably," she mutters. "But you clean up nicely, so we might survive. "
I huff a laugh, smoothing down my navy suit jacket.
She's trying. I know she's nervous, we both are.
This is our first real night out since everything changed.
Since we admitted there's more going on here than just co-parenting and unresolved tension.
Since we both acknowledged that Tobias fits into our lives in ways we never expected.
No one on the team knows that yet. Well, I'm sure Brea and Alexis know to an extent, but Ridley.
Oh shit, especially not Ridley. My bestie and teammate is going to lose his shit when he finds out about us adding Tobias into the mix.
Lia's brother is protective on a good day.
Finding out his teammate and sister are now involved with another teammate?
I'm not looking forward to that conversation.
Tobias, unfortunately, isn't with us tonight.
It's not that we didn't want him there, hell, I almost refused to go without him.
At the time he wasn't in our inner circle and he didn't get an invitation to this exclusive gallery opening.
I didn't want to ask last minute for fear of questions about why, considering what went down between us days ago.
Lia had hesitated, said maybe we should all skip it.
Tobias simply kissed her forehead, his eyes warm and reassuring, then kissed Chloe's chubby little cheek, and said, "Go.
I've got her tonight. We are in need of a date night, aren't we, little Angel," he said adoringly to my daughter whilst ushering us out the door.
"You two have fun. Take pictures of whatever weird rich-people art you see," he continued as the door closed in our shocked faces, his easy confidence somehow making it impossible to argue.
Now, here we are, and I can honestly say I know what it feels like to miss him. It's a strange feeling, wanting both Lia and Tobias beside me, like two parts of the same whole.
Inside, the gallery is sleek and modern, white walls, polished concrete floors, minimalist lighting that casts dramatic shadows across the artwork.
It smells like money and wine, with hints of expensive perfume and pretension.
The outside crowd is already thick with Seattle's elite, critics, collectors, influencers standing in clusters, eager to pretend to care about brushstrokes and composition apparently.
We spot Ridley and Brea almost immediately.
He's in a fitted dark suit, his hand on Brea's lower back, while she talks animatedly to Alexis, who's wearing a green gown that somehow makes her sleep-deprived new-mom look magazine-ready.
Brea's gesturing enthusiastically, probably talking about her latest studio session or the tour she's planning.
Tor's looking way too comfortable in his formal wear, sipping something expensive while surveying the room with quiet authority.
Derrick sticks close to Sebastian, who stands a little apart from the group, quiet but not withdrawn.
Sebastian's face is unreadable, but there's something different about him tonight.
I make a mental note to go say hey, but I hesitate.
There's something about the way his jaw is set, the slight tension in his shoulders that keeps me in place.
I know my friend and I know when he needs space.
Besides, Derrick is hovering protectively at his side, their hands occasionally brushing in what seems like a silent reassurance.
"Lia!" Alexis spots her and rushes over, pulling her into a quick hug before looking between us, her eyes missing nothing. "You okay? You look like you're bracing for an ambush."
Lia fidgets with her clutch, not quite meeting her eyes, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "I think I'm just. . .weird about leaving Chloe. It's our first night out since she was born."
Alexis softens instantly, maternal understanding passing between them.
"I get that. Kodah's with the nanny tonight and I've already texted her five times.
You'll get used to it. Sort of." She gives Lia's arm a squeeze.
"The guilt never goes away completely, but trust me, you need these moments too. "
I step aside, giving them a moment to talk, but I can feel the awkwardness radiating off Lia.
Normally, she and I would be cracking jokes, teasing each other, and standing a little too close.
Now, we're practically performing a two-foot distance act for the crowd.
Nobody's said anything, but I can feel it, the change.
It's like the team expects us to fall into our usual banter, but we're not sure how to anymore.
Everything's different, and we don't know how to hide that yet.
Especially not when all I want to do is touch her, and if I do it the way I want to, well, I promised Coach Lennox we'd keep things professional and drama-free, so I don't want to make the next Hattie segment of gossip.
The last thing we need is another headline about the Seattle Vipers' personal lives.
We wander through the first hall, past groups of art enthusiasts as they began to trickle in, murmuring appreciatively at each piece.
The name of the show, Variations of a Muse , is painted in delicate silver font across the wall.
The paintings are abstract landscapes at first, Lake Washington at dawn, fog curling off the water, the warm gold of evening light catching on tree leaves.
The colors are bold yet somehow intimate, like secrets whispered in confidence.
Then the pieces start to shift, sketches of hands, close-ups of a mouth in profile.
A slanted gaze, half-shadowed. A body in motion, muscles defined in strokes of ochre and blue. My eyes narrow.
I know those features.
Lia grabs my arm, her fingers digging into my bicep. "Dev. . ."
She's staring at a canvas, bold, layered brushstrokes forming a profile I'd know anywhere. The strong jawline, the intense gaze, the slight curve at the corner of the lips that suggests a smile about to break through. It's unmistakable.
No one says it. Not yet. We're all slowly realizing it though, the whispers growing around us as recognition dawns. The subject of these paintings is here in this room.
A soft gasp breaks the silence.
Sebastian steps forward, voice low but steady, his gray eyes meeting each of ours in turn.
"You want to know who B. Ardent is?" He takes Derrick's hand, openly, firmly, their fingers interlacing in a gesture that feels both defiant and vulnerable.
"You already know him. You've always known me. I'm B. Ardent."
We all freeze, too stunned to grasp what he just confessed. Bast a painter. Since when? That's Derrick in those paintings, the hands, the profile, the body captured in moments of quiet intimacy. I have so many questions. How long has he been doing this? How did none of us know?